Mikhail Kalatozov is something of a manic filmmaker, not in
the sense that he employs expeditious narrative device in his movies but rather
in his pyretic, even paranoid, compositional emphasis.Formally polyglot, Kalatozov’s films, as
expressed in the astir perspectives of The
Cranes are Flying or the apparitional surveying seen in I Am Cuba, often read as photographic
treatises, works that plumb the depths of the cinema's aesthetic
potential.On this level alone, they sate
artistic appetites. Good
thing, too, for these pictures can also come across as somewhat trivial on the human
front, as the director’s—in alignment with the Soviet sociopolitical climate—spirited
sense of national utility often elicits tinges of apathy on the individual
level.The Cranes are Flying, in particular, is a masterwork of lighting,
mood, and cadence that, despite focusing on a star-crossed young couple,
relegates the weight of personal loss to something of necessity; mortal failing
is presented as kindling to lighting social fires.This portrayal does, however, do well in projecting
one against the backdrop of the bigger picture, evoking how personal tragedy is
a ubiquitous aspect of life in the civilized world.

Similarly, Letter
Never Sent extols the nobility of human progress, even in the face of
individual demise.Just as our
contemporary luxuries are byproducts of ancestral tribulation, the four
principles of its story embody the cost inherent to societal betterment.The film opens on a geological quintet
being left to explore the terrain of Siberia, a harsh, industrially uncultivated
land representative of, simply, the unknown.Early shots establish environmental agency, as the team slogs through
natural impediments of marsh and flora on their mission to mine diamonds from
their cold yet seemingly sentient surroundings.Though each character is treated with token expositional flourish, their
struggle against the land is of more symbolic rendering.Kalatozov espouses his film to this ideology
by constantly reducing his subjects to silhouette, indistinct entities moving
over equally nebulous landscapes.The
entire thing is analogous, and broadly so, but not to the point of genericism.Touches like the titular communiqué, a
continuously building entity that augments feelings of personal severance with
each pitiable update, aid in relaying how identity dissolves in the pursuit of
national interest; overlays of flames both portend the crew’s fate and provide a
visual sense of agency to their early, uneventful proceedings.

From the standpoint of craft, Letter Never Sent is mesmeric cinema.Not only does Kalatozov construct the film in
a disorienting, angular fashion—though with less calculation and exactitude
than the frames of The Cranes are Flying—he
constantly pushes the limits of visual space and depth, often beginning with a
close-up but expanding this focus to relate individual to environment.Some of the more drastic examples of spatial
dynamicism recall antecedents, such as silent-era Dreyer, while more austere, wind-whipped
shots evoke the contemporary schemes of Béla Tarr.The result, at least from the standpoint of
filmic language, demonstrates an adroit sensitivity to the power of the image.

None of these visual reflections are particularly
challenging, mind you, but they do carry with them a profound sense of
urgency.Mirroring the picture’s
concerns with manifest destiny—refreshingly from a human, not political,
perspective—Kalatozov contrasts the explorers’ mite against the humbling power
of nature.As the four disconnect
further from society, the director plays upon their innate carnality by having the
characters verbalize comparisons between themselves and ill-flattering animal
concestors.The narrative’s hazy
depiction of temporality, via seamless seasonal transitions, also underscores
the infinitesimal scale of their human intervention against the grandeur of
Earth—lives seem doomed to flux with the indifference of natural rhythms.

In the midst of actualizing their mortality, the players
simultaneously, in a manner befitting Soviet ideals, realize their purpose as
one of service.A gloriously industrial fata morgana proves the most obtrusive onscreen
testament to this, but at least it delineates how legacy outlasts a felt sense
of esteem.“My life isn’t my own,”
opines one of the souls after apprehending the scope of his mission.That life is wrought with pain is secondary
to Kalatozov in this, a vis-à-vis study
of personal survival vs. societal gain.But
the sacrifices linked to this stalwart progressive focus are what further the
comforts of the masses.Be it any field—artistic,
scientific, or other—a certain disregard for the person, at times, can bequeath
great treasures to the collective whole.The cinema of Kalatozov may not be the most empathetically inclined, but
at least he acknowledges this concession by braiding these notions with his
knack for chiffon storytelling and strong aesthetics.

Transfer

Though the source of the image is of somewhat inconsistent
constitution, Letter Never Sent nonetheless
looks remarkable on Criterion Blu-ray.The picture’s more immersive qualities, most notably the dexterous
camera work and creative shadow play, come depicted in an appropriately stable
context, where detail is not sacrificed for the sake of the frames’ often
balletic fluidity.At times the visuals
are softer than I’d like, though this is far from a commonplace fault; it’s hard
to find error in a restoration of less than immaculate source prints.Sound design is on the flatter end of the
spectrum, but crystalline nonetheless.The movie’s overarching emphasis on craft makes this a worthy edition to
any cinematic anthology, and Criterion’s demonstrative efforts toward
refurbishment only amplify its value.

Extras:

More attention, however, would have been appreciated on this
front.As Kalatozov has myriad modern
apostles, surely more material could have been produced that further examine
his technical intricacy.Alas, only an
essay—which, to be fair, are usually the supplemental gems of their releases
anyway—by Dina Iordanova accompanies the work and its visual majesty.